The Snow Tiger / Night of Error

SEVENTEEN

Ballard dropped Liz at the hospital and went on to Deep Freeze Headquarters. He did not find McGill at the office but finally ran him down at the Officers’ Club where he was talking shop. Ballard said, ‘I thought I’d pick you up first. Old Stenning will have travelled a long way and he’ll be tired, so I thought I wouldn’t keep him waiting around.’

‘Sure,’ said McGill. ‘I’ll come right along. When is he due in?’

‘In fifteen minutes, if the plane’s on time.’

They drove to Harewood Airport, two minutes away, and stood chatting on the concourse while they waited. McGill said, ‘I’ve never met a millionaire’s lawyer. Will you recognize Stenning when you see him?’

Ballard nodded. ‘He’s a tall, thin chap with white hair. Looks a bit like Bertrand Russell.’

The aircraft was on time and, as the passengers streamed through the terminal, Ballard said, ‘There he is,’ and McGill saw a tall, old man with the face of an ascetic. Ballard stepped forward. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Stenning.’ They shook hands. ‘This is Mike McGill, a friend. He’s come to carry the suitcases. I don’t think they’ll be long in coming.’

Stenning smiled. ‘Are you the Dr McGill who has been giving evidence at the Inquiry?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘If you’re carrying suitcases you’ve come down in the world.’

‘The luggage is coming now,’ said Ballard. Stenning pointed out his cases, and Ballard said, ‘Let’s get this stuff out to the car, Mike.’ As they left the terminal he said to Stenning, ‘I’ve booked you a room at the hotel where I’m staying. It’s quite comfortable.’

‘Just point me towards a bed,’ said Stenning. ‘I find it difficult to sleep on aircraft. How is the Inquiry going?’

‘I’ve kept the newspapers for you. It’s getting good coverage in Christchurch.’

Stenning grunted. ‘Good! I’ve been in aircraft for two days so I’ve fallen behind with the news. I’m looking forward to discussing the disaster with you, Dr McGill.’

‘Any time I’m not in court, Mr Stenning.’

At the hotel McGill tactfully made himself scarce while Ballard showed Stenning his room. Stenning said, ‘I’m not as resilient as I used to be, Ian. I’m going to bed. Your grandfather would have said a thing or two about that, were he here. At my age he was an assiduous globe-trotter.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry he’s gone.’

‘Yes,’ said Ballard. ‘So am I.’

Stenning regarded him curiously. ‘Are you?’ he asked in a sceptical tone. ‘If you’d have said the other thing I wouldn’t have been surprised – or shocked. Your grandfather was a hard man to get on with. In my opinion he didn’t treat you very well.’

Ballard shrugged. ‘I’ll miss him all the same.’

‘So will I, Ian. So will I. Now, if you’ll excuse a tired old man …’

‘Have you eaten? I can get something sent in.’

‘No – I just want my bed.’

Ballard indicated a cupboard. ‘I laid in some drinks. There’s whisky, gin and brandy – with the trimmings.’

‘A kindly thought. A whisky before bed will go down very well. I’ll see you tomorrow, Ian.’

Ballard left him and found McGill having a beer by the pool. McGill raised an eyebrow. ‘Well?’

‘Nothing,’ said Ballard. ‘He didn’t say a damned thing.’

McGill frowned. ‘I’ll tell you something,’ he said. ‘He sure as hell didn’t fly thirteen thousand miles to discuss a disaster with Mike McGill.’

Stenning was absent from breakfast next morning. McGill buttered a slice of toast. ‘He doesn’t seem to be in much of a hurry. Just like a lawyer; they work to a different sort of time from the rest of us.’

‘I had a visit from one of my relatives yesterday,’ said Ballard. ‘My cousin Frank.’ He told McGill what had happened.

McGill whistled. ‘You Ballards play rough. Can he do what he threatened to do? Have you blackballed in the industry?’

‘I doubt it. He might like to think he can. He could certainly make life bloody difficult.’

‘How come Frank was in Sydney? Very convenient, wasn’t it?’

‘The Ballard Group has interests in many countries, including Australia. It’s not unusual to find a member of the family popping up almost anywhere. I think my Uncle Steve, Frank’s father, is also in Sydney. That’s what Frank implied.’

McGill helped himself to marmalade. ‘Goddamn convenient, all the same. Crowell knew they were in Australia because he blew the whistle on you. Frank came running fast enough.’

They talked desultorily until McGill had finished his coffee. ‘I’m going to the hospital to see Joe. If Stenning has anything important to say he won’t want me around.’ He went away leaving Ballard to finish his breakfast alone.

Ballard read the Sunday papers by the pool, concentrating first on the account of the Inquiry. That did not take long, and he went on to the rest of the news which did not take long, either. He felt restless and thought of going to see Liz, but he did not want to leave the hotel without having seen Stenning. He went to his room and put on swimming trunks and worked out his frustration in several lengths of the pool.

It was eleven-thirty before Stenning appeared, carrying several newspaper clippings. ‘Good morning, Ian,’ he said briskly.

‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Like a babe. Only to be expected, of course. I had breakfast in my room. Where’s Dr McGill?’

‘He’s gone to see Joe Cameron, the mine engineer. He’s still in hospital.’

The clippings fluttered in Stenning’s hand. ‘So I gathered.’ He looked around. ‘We could do worse than have a chat here. Very nice place.’

Ballard unfolded another garden chair. ‘The town is all right, too. Christchurch prides itself on being more English than England.’

Stenning sat down. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing it.’ He regarded the clippings, then folded them and put them into his pocket. ‘You’re having quite a time at this Inquiry. I don’t think your family is going to like the things you’ve been saying.’

‘I know they don’t like it,’ said Ballard. ‘I had a visit from Frank yesterday. He wants me to shut up.’

‘What did you do?’ asked Stenning interestedly.

‘I showed him the door.’

Stenning did not comment but he looked pleased in an indefinable way which Ballard could not place. ‘You know, I was more than your grandfather’s lawyer. I was also his friend.’

‘I know he placed a lot of trust in you.’

‘Trust,’ said Stenning, and smiled. ‘Trust – that’s what I want to talk about. What do you know about the way your grandfather organized his affairs – I mean his financial affairs?’

‘Practically nothing,’ said Ballard. ‘I knew that he put all, or most, of his money into some kind of trust a few years ago. He made it quite clear that I was not going to inherit, so I didn’t take much interest. It was nothing to do with me.’

Stenning nodded. ‘Yes, it was a little over seven years ago. Do you know anything about estate duties in the United Kingdom?’

‘Death duties? Nothing much.’

‘Then I shall enlighten you. A man may give his money away – to his family usually – to a charitable foundation, as Ben did. However, if he dies within seven years of the transaction having taken place then his gift is assessed for estate duty just as if he hadn’t made it at all. If he dies after seven years have elapsed then the gift escapes the tax.’

‘I had heard about that,’ Ballard smiled. ‘I didn’t worry too much about it, myself. I don’t have much to leave, and I’ve no one to leave it to.’

Stenning shook his head. ‘Every man must make provision for the unknown future,’ he said in a lawyerly way. ‘Ben died after the seven-year period.’

‘Therefore the foundation doesn’t have to pay the tax.’

‘Precisely. But it was a near-run thing. For one thing, the government changed the law and Ben squeezed in just under the deadline. For another he died just two weeks after the seven years were up. In fact, he nearly didn’t make it at all. Do you remember him coming to see you just before you came to New Zealand?’

‘Yes. It was when he offered me the job in Hukahoronui.’

‘The effort nearly killed him,’ said Stenning. ‘The next day he took to his bed and never left it again.’

‘He sent me his stick,’ said Ballard. ‘I had a bad leg at the time. He said he wouldn’t need the stick again.’

‘He didn’t.’ Stenning looked at the sky contemplatively. ‘It was very important to Ben that he should see you at that time. The breaking of your leg was a minor disaster – you couldn’t go to see him, so the mountain had to go to Mahomet. It was so important to him that he put at risk a very large sum of money – and more beside.’

Ballard frowned. ‘I don’t see how it could have been important. All he did was to twist my arm into taking the job at Hukahoronui – and look how that’s turned out.’ His voice was bitter.

‘An avalanche wasn’t part of Ben’s plans – but it came in useful.’ Stenning laughed as he saw the bafflement on Ballard’s face. ‘You think I’m talking in riddles? Never mind; all will be made clear. Let us look at the charitable foundation. Ben gave it all his personal fortune except what he needed to live on until his death, which wasn’t much. Ben was not a man to flaunt prestige symbols; he had no Rolls Royce, for example. His needs were few and his life austere. But the foundation got a lot of money.’

‘I could see how it might.’

‘It does good work. The money or, rather, the interest on the money, supports several laboratories working mostly in the fields of mining safety and health. Very good and necessary work, indeed.’

‘My God!’ said Ballard in astonishment. ‘Do the trustees know how the Ballard Group works? Every safety regulation is normally bent, or broken if they think they can get away with it. That’s like giving with one hand and taking with the other.’

Stenning nodded. ‘That perturbed Ben, but there was nothing he could do about it at the time for reasons you shall see. Now let us take a look at the trustees. There are five.’ He ticked them off on his fingers. ‘There’s your uncle Edward, your cousin Frank, Lord Brockhurst, Sir William Bendell and myself. I am the Chairman of the Board of Trustees of the Ballard Foundation.’

‘I’m surprised that two of the family are trustees. From what Ben said the last time I saw him he had no great regard for them.’

‘Ben made them trustees for tactical reasons. You’ll see what I mean when I come to the nub. You’re right, of course, in your assessment of Ben’s attitude to the family. He had four sons, one of whom died here in New Zealand, and the other three turned out in a way he couldn’t stomach. He had no great regard for any of his grandchildren, either, except one.’ Stenning jabbed forward a thin forefinger. ‘You.’

‘He had funny ways of showing it,’ said Ballard wryly.

‘He’d seen how his sons had turned out and he knew that whatever else he was good at he was not a good father. So he saw to your education and left you strictly alone. He watched you, of course, and he liked what he saw. Now consider – what could Ben do a few years ago when he contemplated what was likely to happen to his personal fortune? He wouldn’t give it to his family whom he didn’t like, would he?’

‘Not on the face of it.’

‘No,’ said Stenning. ‘Anyway, as Ben saw it they already had enough. In all honesty, could he give it to you? How old were you then?’

‘Seven years ago? Twenty-eight.’

Stenning leaned back. ‘I rather think that when Ben and I first talked about setting this thing up you were twenty-six. Just a fledgling, Ian. Ben couldn’t see himself putting so much money and power – and money is power – into the hands of one so young. Besides, he wasn’t too sure of you. He thought you were immature for your years. He also thought your mother had something to do with that.’

‘I know. He was scathing about her at our last meeting.’

‘So he set up the Ballard Foundation. And he had to do two things: he had to make sure that he retained essential control – and he had to live for seven years. He did both. And he watched you like a hawk because he wanted to see how you turned out.’

Ballard grimaced. ‘Did I come up to expectations?’

‘He never found out,’ said Stenning. ‘He died before the Hukahoronui experiment was completed.’

Ballard stared at him. ‘Experiment! What experiment?’

‘You were being tested,’ said Stenning. ‘And this is how it went. You were now thirty-five; you were more than competent at any job you’d been given, and you knew how to handle men. But Ben had a feeling that you have a soft centre and he discovered a way to find out if this was indeed so.’ He paused. ‘I gather that you and the Peterson family have never got on too well together.’

‘An understatement,’ said Ballard.

Stenning’s face was firm. ‘Ben told me that the Petersons had walked all over you when you were a boy. He sent you to Hukahoronui to see if the same thing would happen.’

‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ Ballard was suddenly angry. ‘I knew he had a power complex, but who the hell did he think he was? God? And what the devil was it all for?’

‘You can’t be as naive as that,’ said Stenning. ‘Look at the composition of the Board of Trustees.’

‘All right; I’m looking. Two Ballards, yourself and two others. What about it?’

‘This about it. Old Brockhurst, Billy Bendell and I are all old friends of Ben. We had to have two of the family on the board so they wouldn’t smell a rat. If they had suspected what Ben was up to they’d have found a way to shove their oar in and wreck Ben’s plan. Any half-way criminal lawyer could have found a way of torpedoing the Foundation before Ben died. But for seven years the three of us have been playing the Ballards on a length of line so the boat wouldn’t be rocked. We’ve been playing along with the two Ballards on the board, only forcing our hand in things which didn’t matter too much to them. They think it’s going to continue in this way – but it’s not.’

‘I don’t see what this has got to do with me.’

Stenning said evenly, ‘Ben wanted you on the Board of Trustees.’

Ballard gaped at him. ‘So?’

‘So it’s arranged like this. The board is self-perpetuating. If a member retires there is a vote to elect his replacement and – this is important – the retiring member has a vote. Brockhurst is nearly eighty and has only held on to please Ben. When he retires you’ll have his vote, you’ll have Billy Bendell’s vote, and you’ll have my vote – and that’s a majority and there’s nothing the Ballards can do about it.’

Ballard was silent for a long time. Presently he said, ‘This is all very well, but I’m not an administrator, at least, not of the trustee kind. I suppose there’d be an honorarium, but I have a living to earn. You’re offering me a job for a retired business man. I don’t want to run a charitable fund, no matter how big.’

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